Lisa B. Kamps [Kamps - Playing His Part: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 7)

It was her wedding day and she'd be more enthusiastic if she was getting ready to jump off the Hoover Dam. At least if she did that, she'd know exactly what was waiting for her at the end: death.

But with this...with this, there was only uncertainty.

And more than a little fear.

Natalie Kenney pulled in a deep breath and pressed the palm of one hand flat against her stomach to calm the nerves threatening to turn her entire body inside out. She'd use both hands if she could, but her left hand was tightly fisted around the small bouquet of flowers the groom had thrust at her ten minutes ago.

Roses. Vibrant red roses, the color deep and rich against the pale skin stretched across her tight knuckles. If she squeezed the bouquet any tighter, the stems would breakif they hadn't already.

She didn't even like roses. Not that the groom would know that. How could he, when he didn't know her ? They weren't total strangershe was her friend's brother. A friend she hadn't seen since she was sixteen, almost nine years ago, but still...that counted for something, right? The fact that he wasn't a total stranger. The fact that she at least knew him.

A little bit.

Kind of.

And he had recognized her last night when they ran into each otherliterally, because she'd been hurrying through the marble-floored lobby when she plowed right into him. He'd caught her, steadying her with firm hands, the skin of his palms callused and warm and somehow reassuring in spite of the flash of annoyance that crossed his face. His brown eyes had been carefully blank, almost cold, for a long minute as he stared at her. Then he dropped his hands and stepped back, his head tilted to the side as he studied her. She knew exactly when he recognized herat least when he thought he might recognize her. Not because of any flare of recognition that lit his face, but because he came right out and asked if he knew her.

He had invited her to the bar for a drink, which turned into five, which made Natalie spill her entire life story, every single woe and regret and sorrow and failure that had made up the last pathetic five years. The story ended with the vaguest retelling of the lowest of low points in her life: the catastrophe that had left her stranded in a city unforgiving of mistakes.

He had leaned in closer, so of course she leaned toward him, thinking that maybe he was getting ready to kiss her because suddenly the thought of being kissed by him filled her with more than a few sparks of excitement. He was attractive, with jet black hair and a square jaw and a full mouth. More rugged than handsome. Natalie had thought he was cute the few times she'd seen him all those years ago, too. Not crush-worthy cutehe was too aloof and arrogant even back then, too wrapped up in hockey and whatever else drove himbut still cute. And kissing himbeing kissed by himsuddenly seemed like the perfect way to turn what had been a totally crappy week around.

Only he hadn't kissed her. Instead, he leaned in, his deep voice a little rough, and said, "Let's get married."

Let's get married .

And like the impulsive fool she was, Natalie had accepted the lifeline he'd thrown her and agreed to the insane proposal.

Now here they were eighteen hours later, at one of the many chapels that lined the Vegas strip, ready to commit themselves in matrimony.

Commit . Somehow that word seemed appropriate. The only thing more appropriate would be if they were in a padded room instead of this quaint and nowhere-near-as-tacky-as-she-expected little chapel. Because they had to be crazy for doing this, right?

She glanced over at the groom-to-be, his brows lowered over dark eyes as he reviewed the different vows they could say to each other. The blunt end of one long finger finally tapped the small booklet as he nodded.

"We can do this one." He seemed to finally remember that she was standing there with him because he looked over, that frown still in place. "If you're okay with it, I mean."